The Dancing Jackal
Gidon’s Bedroom
The Jackal hadn’t been as busy as it practically never was. Busy was about three or five strangers and for a good three hours no one had entered. All Gidon had to do was ask Aury to go out and fetch him a newspaper, and Elly to take inventory on the beers in the cellar, and the black wolf managed to sneak right back into bed. He had crawled beneath his quilt, an old blanket he had fallen in love with when he discovered it in a dumpster. Some human pups had pissed the hell out of it, but it still did its job.
With his head slumped in the comfortable clutches of his pillow, he caught up on his lack of sleep. Getting up early in the morning to open a bar that no one was interested in visiting always made him feel cranky. His left, pointed ear twitched and his legs kicked a little when he dreamt of chasing deer, deer that turned into flying, bloody, meat steaks that began flapping in the frosty wind. A pink tongue dragged across his muzzle as he decided to run harder to catch them, his legs kicking ever more frantically in his desperation.